


Outlaws, all of them

by reddeadmort



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 17:10:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18348050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddeadmort/pseuds/reddeadmort
Summary: You’ve barely escaped from Valentine, and you’re looking for a bit of cash so you can lay low for a while, when you see a lone cowboy….





	1. Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of blood, violence, swearing (in line with the game), minor fluff towards the end.

“Well…shit.”

  
Your mother, and half the people you’d ever met, always told you that swearing wasn’t ladylike. But right now, sat on your large war horse, looking out over the plains of the Heartlands, you could not give a damn. Sighing, you took stock of what had happened over the previous couple of days.   
  
You’d always been so careful; but somewhere, sometime, you must have become complacent. You weren’t even aware there was a bounty on your head; not until that group of half-cut bounty hunters strolled into the Valentine Saloon. You’d been in Valentine a few days, scoping out a new target; you were sure there was something untoward going on in the Doctor’s back office, but hadn’t yet had an opportunity to pick the lock and see what you could find. You had treated yourself to a hotel room; thanks to a nice quick raid at that ranch near Heartland Overflow, you had a whole pile of jewellery and buckles burning a hole in your pocket and the hotel owner was plenty happy to take a ring or two off your hands. You’ll have to go back to that ranch again, you thought; that strange man and his family sure had a lot of valuables lying around for ranchers.  
  
You enjoyed this saloon; the whiskey was cheap, entertainment in the form of fights was plentiful, and the men, on the most part, left you alone. The ones that didn’t sure as hell did after they felt your knife pressed against the front of their trousers.   
  
You had been camped at the far end of the bar when the bounty hunters strolled in, asking if anyone had seen (Y/N). You froze, and locked eyes with the bartender; he was the only person in there you’d said your name to, a mistake you won’t be making again. But he owed you, after you’d knocked that mad as hell drunk out with a well-timed chair leg. As one of the bounty hunters leaned on the bar, facing away from you, you’d called the bartender over with a wave, and whispered to him as you passed him 10 dollars… you’d hoped it would be enough for him to go along with it. He’d taken the money, poured a drink, and set the glass down in front of that over-powdered tart at the other end of the bar, saying how that nice gentleman (pointing at the bounty hunter) had bought it for her. Her companion had taken offence to this, and as all hell broke loose you had slipped out the back of the saloon. Quietly moving up the side of the saloon, you’d hoped to get across to your horse without being seen – no such luck. As you’d run across the road, the bounty hunters and bruised bartender had come flying through the saloon doors, the bartender screaming and pointing at you. With an adept jump on to the hitching post (you really needed to get a shorter horse, dammit) you’d swung yourself into the saddle and pounded away from that damn town.   
  
As you were riding away, you swore as you realised your latest haul was still in that damn hotel room. You hadn’t had a chance to stash it in your usual place yet, and ever since that incident in Rhodes you didn’t dare leave more than a hat on your horse. Damn thing never looked twice at who was rifling through his saddlebags; for such a large horse he sure was soft.  
  
You were going to have to get some money, and fast. You had your pistol, rifle and your trusty knives, but only enough provisions for a couple of days at best, and that O Driscoll gang had set up camp too close to comfort to your stash. You knew they wouldn’t find it, but you sure as hell didn’t want them finding you. As you looked over the plains, you thought about hunting a few deer; if you could find that trapper again, he’d give you something for what you could get off them, and you’d at least have a few days of meat before it went bad. But then you spotted campfire smoke, not that far off; looking through your binoculars, you saw the lone man and his horse. Now this was a much easier option, and if you were careful, wouldn’t require any bloodshed. You gently kicked your horse, pushing him into a trot as you slowly rode towards the smoke.   
  
——  
_Arthur laid back, looking at the stars above him. He wasn’t too far from the camp, but the incessant arguing between Dutch and Molly, Abigail and John, and Micah’s presence had forced him to find somewhere peaceful to stay, just for one night. It had been a successful trip out to Strawberry; he’d got a decent amount for that Bounty collar, and had picked up a few good pelts and provisions on the way home. For once, he was feeling quite pleased with himself; checking the chimney of that abandoned shack had given him a rather nice new shotgun too. He was about to drift off when he heard a crack from in the trees behind him….._  
_——-_  
  
You got off your horse a little way from the small camp, not hitching him in case a fast getaway was required, and slowly crept over through the trees. You were good at staying out of sight, adept at staying silently; thank god your useless father had at least taken you out hunting sometimes. When you were close enough to see the lone stranger you stopped; it looked like he wasn’t quite asleep yet, you would have to wait a while longer. Suddenly, a loud *crack* not 4 metres to your left made you tense and rest your hands on your throwing knives.  
  
——–  
_As soon as he heard the noise, Arthur’s hand snapped to his pistol, but as he gripped the handle the unmistakable double barrels of a shotgun came into view, directly above his head._  
__  
“Well well well boys, look who we have here……..Mr Morgan”  
_———_  
  
You recognised that voice; you’d made the mistake of attempting to rob an O’Driscoll camp a few months prior. You’d barely escaped from this bastard, and only because he’d underestimated you; a mistaken given he was the only one of five you hadn’t managed to kill. You thought about sneaking away, leaving this poor lone man to his fate; but then you thought about the way this man had beat you, and the threats he’d made; you could swear you still felt the bruises around your neck. There was only 3 of them…. and O’Driscolls often had a decent bit of cash on them. You quietly slunk round to the back of the man furthest from the fire; he was leaning against a tree, enjoying the spectacle in front of him.   
__  
——–  
_The kick to the head, although expected, hurt Arthur like hell. As he turned over, another blow to the stomach made him gasp; he forced himself to his knees, only to be pistol whipped across the face. As his head hit the ground, the three O’Driscolls laughing and excitedly chattering about their find, he swore he saw a movement in the bushes…._  
_——_  
  
The other two O’Driscolls were too engrossed in kicking the living shit out of the stranger to notice you stand up behind the third man, silently sliding your hunting knife up between his ribsand into his heart. He gurgled as you lowered him to the ground – not as quiet as you’d like, because he was a damn heavy bastard.   
  
“What was that?” the second O’Driscoll said to the leader.   
  
Pressing the barrel of his pistol into the stranger's throat, too enthralled in his task to look up, the leader snapped back to his man.  
  
“Ah Connor’s probably just gone for a piss, stop yer whining”.   
  
With your back to the tree, you glanced round to get a good look at the two remaining men; you were going to have to take both of this men out in quick succession if you weren’t going to get yourself killed. Normally, you’d have gone straight for your pistol, but you’d been stupid and neglected to clean it for weeks, and when you’d shot it escaping from the bounty hunters it had misfired and nearly taken your damn hand off. It would have to be the knives.   
  
—–  
_Arthur stared up at the bastard O’Driscoll, barely able to see through the blood pouring from his forehead. What the hell were this lot doing here? Dutch had been so sure they weren’t south of Valentine. He cursed himself for being so stupid as to be caught, by so few men as well. He was getting old, and getting dumber. Wait; there, again, definitely movement in the trees. He strained to see, ignoring the shit pouring from this mouthy bastard with the pistol._  
—–  
  
Well, now or never you thought. In one swift movement, you swung around the tree, launching the knife at the neck of the O’Driscoll with the shotgun. It hit perfectly, and he crashed to the ground. But it hadn’t even hit its mark before the second knife was in your hand, and you were drawing back to launch it into the face of the lead bastard. As you let go, you felt a searing hot pain in your hip; it knocked you to the ground, as you watched your knife sail past the O’Driscoll’s head. Before you even had a chance to grab another, you heard another shot ring out; you froze, waiting for the pain, but the only thing you felt was a dull thumping in your hip. You looked up to see the stranger on his feet, gun in hand, running towards you. You scrambled to your feet, adrenaline ready to run you back to your horse, but before you managed to launch yourself forwards, a large hand grabbed you by the shoulder and spun you around.   
  
“You alright?”   
  
The stranger holstered his weapon, keeping a firm grip on your shoulder, staring intently at your face. He looked awful; you could barely see his features through the blood. And as you stood there, you realised quite how much larger he was than you….  
  
“Woman, are you alright?”   
  
Fighting down your fight or flight urge, you finally answered him.  
  
“I think so. I’ve been hit near my hip, but it doesn’t hurt that bad so it’s probably just a graze.”  
  
“Now why’d you go do a foolish thing like that for, actin’ like a fool and risking your neck for me?”   
  
As you stared at him, his gaze softened; you hadn’t realised how angry he’d looked before.  
  
“I’ve been at the receiving end of that bastard’s hate before, and I couldn’t let it happen to someone else” you calmly answered, surprised at the steadiness of your tone.   
  
“Well, we better get out of here quickly before more of ‘em shows up”  
  
“Don’t I get to know the name of the man I just saved from certain death?”   
  
The question surprised both of you; you don’t even know why you asked, you were sure you’d neither want or need to ever see this man again.   
  
“Well ma’am, I suppose ya do. I’m Arthur Morgan”.   
  
“Pleased to meet you Arthur Morgan, I’m (Y/N). Now let's get the hell out of here.”   
  
Arthur turned to grab his satchel and a small leather bound journal; you started off towards your horse, but hadn’t gone two steps before a white-hot pain in your hip sent you hurtling to the ground.  _Shit._  
  
“Dammit (Y/N), that’s more than a scratch.”   
  
Arthur was already at your side, examining your hip. It slowly dawned on you quite how much it was hurting; you forced yourself to look down, but Arthur was already clamping fabric to your wound.   
  
“Where’s your damn horse, we’ve got to get you to someone”.    
  
You concentrated and whistled, and were relieved to hear steady hoofbeats approaching.   
  
“That’s your horse? Ya ain’t going to be able to ride that beast in your state.”   
  
Arthur whistled over his mare and lifted you to your feet. He quickly tied your horse to his saddle while you leaned against his white mare. She was gorgeous; maybe an Arabian? You did your best to focus on her mane, struggling to keep your eyes open.   
  
“Stay with me, (Y/N)”.   
  
Arthur quickly climbed on to his horse and lifted you up in front of him with a brief grunt.   
  
“My main camp isn’t far from here, they’ll help get you fixed up.”   
  
As he spoke, he kicked his horse forward and set off at an uncomfortably quick pace northward. Every gallop sent pain through your hip, and you clung on to the saddle for dear life. It was taking all of your concentration, you could barely keep your eyes open; you felt yourself start to slide to your right. Suddenly, a large, muscular arm was wrapped around your waist, as Arthur pinned you to his chest.   
  
In the distance, you heard him say “Easy there girl, I’ve got you” as you slowly slipped into darkness.  
—–  
_  
Arthur_ ’s  _bruised bones were screaming at him as he forced the horse onwards. What the hell just happened? The girl came out of nowhere. But he knew that if she hadn’t, he would either be dead or slung over the back of an O’Driscolls horse on his way to a worse fate. As he held the woman tight to his chest, his only thought was that he had to keep her safe._


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovering in an Outlaw camp ain’t as bad as you would have expected….
> 
> Mentions of blood, mild violence, swearing (in line with the game), fluff has been ramped up.

—-  
_Arthur knew he’d pushed his horse too damn hard. But as he rode into camp, he was glad he did. The girl he held to his chest was still breathing, he could feel it. But he wasn’t sure for how much longer….  
__—–_

The first thing you heard was birdsong, and the gentle crackle of a nearby fire. For a few brief moments, you felt peaceful; until the thundering pain in your hip quickly snapped you back to reality.

“Ah shit….” You tried to speak, but thanks to your dry throat all that emerged was a low groan. As you slowly opened your eyes, you became more aware of your surroundings. You were in sort of tent, raised up from the ground on a rudimentary camp bed.

“Good to have you back with us dear.”  

The sudden voice, close by, snapped you to fully awake. Heart pounding, your hand went to your gun belt, only to find it wasn’t there.

“It’s okay, you’re safe.”

You breathed slowly, letting your head fall back to the bed, and forced yourself to turn it towards the source of the voice. There was an older man sat on a chair to your side, book in his lap; he was slight, and without meaning to, your first thought was that he looked easy to overpower. You shook your head to dismiss the thought; he was smiling at you, and what was he going to do? Read you to death?

You tried to speak, but again all that came from your mouth was a muffled groan.

“I’ll fetch you some water dear, just rest”.

The man stood up and walked away. You tried to lift your head to watch him and caught a glimpse of a fire and a handful of tables, but you were too weak and once again fell back against the bed. The man quickly returned, and gently propped your head up as he held a cup of water to your mouth. You took a few careful sips, grateful of his help; your mouth hadn’t felt this dry since you’d woken up in a jail cell after an excessively heavy night in a saloon in Blackwater.

“I assume you’re wondering where you are?”

As you lowered your head back down, you gave a brief nod. You thought hard, struggling to retrieve your recent memories. You had escaped from Valentine, that you were sure of; and if this was a bounty hunter camp, you sure as well wouldn’t be unshackled on a bed. You vaguely remembered some kind of fight, gunshots and pain; your hand went to your hip, and the pain that shot through you as your hand touched the bandage quickly reminded you that it was you that had got shot.

“Well my dear, you’ve ended up in our little camp. We’re….well, I’d say we’re a family, but others call us the Van der Linde gang.”

 _Van der Linde…._ The name seemed familiar, perhaps you had seen it on some of the bounty posters you’d come across on your travels? Though you did admittedly make a point of avoiding the Sheriff’s offices where they normally hung.

“My name is Hosea. And I believe you have already met Mr Morgan?”

 _Arthur._ Suddenly, the memories came flooding back; the lone stranger, the sound of your knives entering flesh, that arm pinning you close. You took a deep breath in, and propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the tall, wide man that now stood at the front of the makeshift tent.

“Arthur, sit here while I go inform Dutch that your mystery rescuer is awake”. Arthur nodded, taking a seat in Hosea’s place.

“You alright ma’am?” He had a strange look on his face, a mixture of concern and relief; you weren’t sure, but thought you probably had the same look. His face was bruised, with a black eye and cuts to his cheek; you could see his features a lot clearer now they weren’t streaked with blood. He had a few wrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead; underneath his stubble, you could see numerous scars. He didn’t seem old, maybe 30, 35, but his skin and eyes denoted a hard life spent on the road.

“I think so” you finally managed to croak out. “Thanks to you”.

Arthur chuckled, and smiled. It was a kind smile, one that made the corners of his eyes wrinkle.

“That ain’t the way I remember it. I reckon it’s me that’s lucky you were around”.

You grinned back. “Yeh, I suppose it is; well at least we’re already even, you don’t owe me nothing thanks to bringing me here”. You meant it; after all, you were the one stupid enough to get involved in a fight that definitely didn’t concern you. Though, right now, you were fairly glad you had.

Arthur frowned slightly. “Now ma’am that’s not true; I’ll be owing you as long as ya see fit.”

Now this was new; a man, actively expressing that he owed you? You stared at him, waiting for him to laugh; you were surprised he’d even mentioned your part in the previous night’s events. Wait, you thought, was it even last night? Suddenly, you had a rush of questions.

“How long have I been here? Did my horse make it back? Where the hell is here exactly?”

Arthur smiled again as he stood up. You could sure get used to that smile, it felt calming.

“2 days, yes, and I ain’t tellin’ you that just yet” he chuckled. “Now rest while I go see if Pearson is done with the stew”.

You lay down again, already feeling exhausted just from the exertion of sitting up. Your heart had calmed, any panic had subsided; you closed your eyes, listening to the gentle murmur of conversations in the background.

——

_As Arthur walked over to the provisions wagon, a wave of relief washed over him, as he felt himself relax for the first time in 2 days. The other gang members barely even stopped to question who the hell this girl was as he pulled her off horse, shouting for help. He’d been shooed away by Mary Beth and Miss Grimshaw as they set to work. He’d tried his best to stop the bleeding as he rode back to camp, but with the pain in his head and the effort of keeping the girl on the horse he wasn’t sure how much he’d done. Abigail had led him away to the tables by the campfire and sat with him, cleaning his face, while he answered Dutch and Hosea’s questions. Dutch’s questions were bordering on the paranoid, and when Arthur finally swore and slammed his fist into the table, making Abigail jump, Hosea dragged Dutch away._

_He’d insisted that the girl was put in his tent, and his back ached from sleeping on the floor next to the cot. He knew the others were making comments about him staying there, sitting and staring at the girl. He didn’t care, all he could focus on was willing her to wake up. That morning was the first time he’d left the unconscious girl’s side, and only because Dutch had insisted he take Tilly and Karen into town to refresh supplies. He’d argued with Dutch about it; he felt incredibly protective of this girl, and wasn’t entirely sure why._

_——_

As the weeks passed, you spent more and more time helping around the camp where you could. It had been almost a week before Arthur had allowed you to properly leave the tent, and even then it was only because you’d convinced that young Irish lad to help you hobble over to one of the camp tables while Arthur was away. You’d insisted on helping the man you now knew to be Mr Pearson with chopping vegetables; if there was one thing you were good at, you joked, it was using a knife. Arthur had gotten slightly angry when he came back and saw you out and (barely) about, but a slight glare and wave of the knife had made him think twice about pushing the subject further.

Slowly but surely, the pain in your hip dulled, and you started to be able to limp a few metres unaided. As soon as you could, you’d convinced Arthur to get the bedroll and canvas off your saddle and got him to set you up a space of your own. He grumbled about it, but complied; he held his ground on its location however, and you’d therefore ended up right next to his tent, where he could see you. You were sure he watched you fall asleep some nights, but you didn’t really mind.

You’d spoken to Charles about your guilt for your brute of a horse; while you could just about sit on him again, with help, you were in no fit state to ride him anywhere. Charles kindly offered to take him out on a hunting trip, and after he realised that your horse happily carried two whole carcasses on his back, among other things, it became a regular thing.

And so camp life started becoming routine. It felt strange, being in one place for so long, around people that knew your name, made you laugh; you were starting to realise that maybe life could be a bit different. Your days were filled with camp chores; you were already fairly adept at skinning smaller animals, but appreciated Charles’ tips and guidance when it came to skinning deer and the like. In the evening, you sat around the campfire, drinking, laughing and singing; the majority of the time you sat next to Arthur, with whoever arrived first always making sure there was space for the other one next to them. Arthur had even made John move from a chair to the floor when the camp had been especially busy one evening; John had sworn at him, but as he saw you slowly limping over, he’d sighed, thrown his hands in the air in frustration and gone to sit next to Abigail. Towards the end of the evening, you’d inevitably find yourself leaning your head against Arthur’s shoulder. The first night you’d done it, you were so tired you barely knew what you were doing, and you froze when you realised; but Arthur had gently put his large arm around you, allowing you to relax into his side. It was warm, peaceful, and you’d found yourself looking forward to it every day he was around.  

That day, by the time evening had rolled around, you were stressed. You’d almost dropped the stew thanks to your damn leg, and were growing frustrated with not being able to move around like you used to. You were sure you should be healed by now, but were still struggling to walk properly; you were starting to realise that your limp might be here to stay. At least the pain had subsided somewhat; it was still there though, and you were reminded every time you put a bit too much weight on that side. You were restocking the medicine wagon with the supplies some of the others had brought back from town when Miss Grimshaw approached you. She had an effect on you very few people did, even men; she made you feel uncomfortably nervous. You’d seen how she berated the others, even some of the men, for not pulling their weight or contributing to the camp fund.

“Good afternoon Miss (Y/N). I do hope you are being careful with those tonics; they’re not cheap you know.”

You breathed slowly, and nodded to her; you knew better than to swear or snap at Miss Grimshaw.

“Good. I will be discussing your contributions with Dutch later”.  

As she walked away, you swore under your breath.  _“Shit.”_  You knew this day would come; while you kept yourself busy, you knew you were becoming a burden, and there was no space for someone like you in an outlaw gang. You bit your cheek, fighting the urge to launch a bottle of damn whiskey at the nearby tree and scream. Sighing to yourself, you continued with your chores, killing the time until you could relax around the campfire.

That evening, you settled on the log next to Arthur, his large hands on your waist helping to lower you down gently. You’d only just sat down when Hosea came over, carrying something.

“Here, my dear, this is for you. I asked Pearson to craft it.”

He passed the object over to you and you realised it was a cane. The top was adorned with a carefully carved fox head; while it wasn’t the fanciest cane you’d ever seen, it made you beam.

“Thank you Hosea! And thank you Mr Pearson. It’s fantastic.” You stood up, using your new cane to support yourself, and took a few steps around the fire.

“Ah now you’s can move around without having to cling to that old bastard” Sean chuckled, nodding towards Arthur. Arthur glowered at him as you laughed.

“And it’s perfect for smacking you round the back of the head when you get too much shite spilling from your gobby mouth Sean” you said, making the group chuckle. All except for Arthur; he was still frowning, and as you walked back over to the log, he stood up and walked over to Hosea in the entrance of his tent.

“Ah, while yer up, get us another bottle will ya (Y/N)!”

“Sure Sean” you answered, smiling.

Your short walk over to the crate of whiskey took you past the back of Hosea’s tent. Arthur and he appeared to be having a hushed argument; this was unusual, and you pretended to drop something so you could stay a brief moment to hear what they were saying.

_“Why Hosea, why’d you give her a damn cane!”_

You froze – you were just being nosy, you weren’t expecting to hear them arguing about you.

_“Because she needs it Arthur!”_

_“She damn well doesn’t Hosea, and how’s she going to be able to help outside the camp with that thing at her side? She’s going to be hobbling around with it all the time and I sure as hell don’t want to see that!”_

Shocked, you stumbled forwards and grabbed a whiskey before anyone questioned why you were taking so long. Your head was spinning; first Miss Grimshaw, now Arthur? You’d been letting him support you as you stood up and walked around the camp, but mostly because you liked the sly smile you were sure you saw when you put your arm around his waist. And, if you were honest with yourself, you were grateful for any excuse to touch him. You could get around the camp fine, albeit a bit slowly, while he wasn’t around. Obviously that had been a mistake, he too thought you were a burden, something you had not been expecting. You walked as fast as you could back to the others, not stopping to listen to the now quietened voices within the tent.  

——–  
_“Arthur….”_

_“I know Hosea, I know.” Arthur sighed and put his head in his hands._

_“It’s just… without it, I can forget she’s hurt. Now that cane is a reminder of what she did for me, and how it got her nearly killed. She didn’t even know me Hosea. That’s probably why she did it. Didn’t know I weren’t worth saving.”_

_“My dear boy… only she knows why she intervened. Let’s not forget she was going to rob you before the others turned up!”_

_Arthur allowed himself to smile slightly. While he’d liked seeing the girl safe in the camp, helping with the more mundane tasks of day-to-day camp life, every so often he was reminded of her past; the way she skillfully skinned a rabbit, Micah’s face when she slammed a throwing knife into the tree right next to his head from nearly 10m away when he’d got a bit too mouthy._

_“Arthur, tomorrow, Dutch wants to talk to you about possibly moving camp. You need to speak to (Y/N) about if she’s staying on with us.”_

_Arthur shuffled his feet awkwardly; he’d been wanting to ask (Y/N) what her plans were for days, even weeks, but was scared about what her answer would be – not that he’d ever admit it to anyone. He nodded at Hosea, and turned to walk back to the fire, feeling his heart jump a bit when he saw the girl sat by the fire. His girl._

_——-_  
  
You sat by the fire, bottle in hand, barely listening to the chatter around you. “ _What the hell now?”_ you thought. You tried to reassure yourself that you were overreacting, you just needed to convince them tomorrow you could be more useful. Maybe you could donate some of your stash to the camp? That would surely buy you a few weeks grace until you could properly ride again. You barely noticed when Arthur sat down next to you; everyone knew better than to try and take a space either of you vacated now. Arthur paused, and gently rested his arm around your waist. You jumped up; or at least attempted to, half stumbling, falling on to your cane. Arthur quickly grabbed your arm, but you pulled away from him. __  


“I can manage.” You practically spit the words at Arthur, catching even yourself by surprise. Arthur looked surprised and glanced at Sean on the next log; Sean just shrugged and looked at away.

You sighed. “I’m turning in. Goodnight Mr Morgan.”

God you knew you could be sharp sometimes. But he deserved it, you thought; you’re a person, not a burden, and certainly not defined by your injury.

You’d barely sat down onto your bedroll when the unmistakable shape of Arthur appeared at the end of your canvas.

“(Y/N)…..” His voice was soft, kind. But you were so angry at him.

“Arthur, whatever it is, it can wait till morning. Go back to the others.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, you knew your resolve would melt away if you did.

Arthur was taken aback, flustered by the continued anger directed at him. He thought he’d accidentally brushed your wound, or one of the others had said something, and was desperate to not have you angry.

“I…we…..Dutch says we’ve got to talk about you and moving on in the mornin’”.

“Fine. Again, goodnight Mr Morgan.”

—–

_Arthur was in a foul mood now. He didn’t understand what he’d done, why she was suddenly angry at him. John must have said something to her about me, he thought to himself. He couldn’t believe how flustered he’d got, he barely managed to get a sentence out, and it was absolutely not what he was planning on saying. He knew well enough to leave people alone when they were in that state, so as much as he wanted to run back to her tent and hold her, to tell her how much he wanted her to stay, he didn’t. He sighed, grabbing a beer and sitting back down with the others._

_——_

That was it, you thought. _“Dutch says we’ve got to talk about you and moving on in the mornin’”_. It didn’t get much clearer than that. You were internally fuming; you couldn’t believe that they’d kick you out so easily, what with all the talk of loyalty that was so frequently bandied around. Well, screw them. You’d be gone before they had the chance.

You waited until everyone had gone to bed. A quick glance over your shoulder revealed Arthur facing away from you, towards the wagon. As quietly as possible, you packed your handful of belongings into your bedroll, grabbed your cane and set off around the back of the tents towards your horse. You were going to regret leaving your canvas behind, you knew it, but taking it down would make too much noise.

You were grateful for the cane as you tried to push your horse to stand next to a nearby hay bale. If your leg didn’t get any better soon, you were definitely going to have to sell him. There’s no way you could spring up onto his back now. You tucked your cane into the saddle, and you’d just swung yourself up onto his back, grimacing at the pain in your hip, as John appeared out of the trees.  _Shit._

“(Y/N)?” John was confused, half asleep.  

“John, for the love of god, be quiet” you whispered. You waved him over, and confused, he stumbled over to you.

“John, I’m leaving. It’s been made clear to me I’ve overstayed my welcome, and I’m leaving before I’m pushed.” You slipped a ring off your finger. “Give this to Dutch, along with my thanks to everyone.”

“Wait, (Y/N), that’s not true.”

“It is John. He doesn’t want to see me and… well this…” you said, motioning at your leg and cane with your hand, nodding towards Arthur’s tent.

“Goodbye John. And thank you.”

John opened his mouth again, but it was too late. With a kick that made you swear with pain, you spurred your horse out of camp and onto the plains. You were heading to the only place you knew you could properly hide and not be found – your stash, in a cave tucked away in the forest in the Grizzlies. You prayed the O’Driscolls had moved on. Once you were there, you’d be safe - you just had to get there first…..  


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This whole ‘saving your life’ thing is becoming a habit you’d like to break. 
> 
> This part is a layer cake of violence, light torture and angst, with fluff icing and sprinkles of smut.

——–

_Arthur hadn’t slept well. He never did when he was angry. When he woke, he still wasn’t sure who he was more pissed at; himself, for not being brave enough to tell you how he felt, or you, for snapping at him. He sighed. I must have done somethin’, he thought. He resolved to apologise, though he wasn’t too sure what for, maybe try and cheer you up with a cup of coffee. Groaning as he sat up, he thought about how he was a dumb old man, out of practice with women._

_Looking across his tent at yours, he noticed your bedroll was gone. Shit, had you been so mad with him you’d moved to sleep with the girls? Shaking his head, which he immediately regretted due to the drinking, Arthur stood up and walked over to the main campfire._

_——–_

You’d ridden as hard as you could, and your entire body ached, especially your leg. Once you were past Valentine, your anger had started to fade, and sadness had started to take its place. You were so close to leaving your old life behind; not having to be alone anymore, friends to help you survive.  _Maybe something more than friendship?_  You chastised yourself for that last thought. This was how it would always have to be. You couldn’t trust anyone else, and certainly weren’t going to be so kind to strangers again.

It was late morning as you approached the area of forest where you had hidden your stash. You slowed down, moving into the trees. Listening, you could hear faint voices alongside the birdsong. Getting out your binoculars, you looked towards the hidden cave you wear heading for.  _Shit._  The O’Driscolls had done the opposite of moving along it would appear – their camp, only a few tents and a wagon when you last saw it, had grown substantially. They were still a little way from the cave, and you were sure they wouldn’t hear you as you collected your things, but you were going to have to be careful. If you waited until the evening, it would be dark enough for you to slip by, but not so quiet as to make you easy to hear. You turned and trotted off to find a quiet spot to wait out the day.

——

_“Tilly, you seen (Y/N)?” Arthur asked as he grabbed some morning coffee. She said she hadn’t, and Arthur asked the next person he saw. Then the next, then the next. He was growing increasingly more concerned, as more gang members woke and appeared from their tents; no-one had seen you since the previous night. John was one of the last to wake, as usual; he strolled towards the campfire, still waking up, when he suddenly remembered what had happened as he returned from his nighttime piss. He didn’t have a chance to escape before Arthur was repeating his question again, this time to him._

_“John, you seen (Y/N) anywhere? Ain’t no-one seen her since last night.”_

_“Errrrr (Y/N)…which one’s that again” John blustered, panicking._

_“John, you dumbass, stop messin’ around.” Arthur growled._

_John was not looking forward to this. He knew everyone thought he was stupid, but even he had noticed Arthur’s behaviour around you._

_“She…. She’s gone Arthur. Left in the night, I saw her.”_

_Arthur’s heart sank, and his worry was immediately replaced by fury. “Marston, what the hell did you do! What did you say to her!” Arthur had closed the gap between them fast, and grabbed John by the front of his shirt, practically lifting him off the ground. “What did you say to make her leave?!” Arthur practically yelled the last sentence in John’s face. Everyone was staring, John was getting more embarrassed, and, if he was honest, scared. It was way to early for this shit._

_“It weren’t me Arthur! It was you! She said so, I tried to stop her.” Arthur’s grip relaxed slightly as his anger at John started to fade._

_“What do you mean, it was me?” Arthur frowned._

_“She said… she said it had been made clear that she had overstayed her welcome. She wanted to leave before she was pushed. Now let me go dammit Arthur.”_

_Arthur finally released John, stepping back. “I… I didn’t say that?” he muttered, confused._

_“Arthur, dear, what did you say?” Mary-Beth asked._

_“I…. I told her that Dutch needed to speak to us about movin’ to a new camp, and if she’d like to stay with me… I mean us.” Mary-Beth stared at him, as realisation slowly dawned on Arthur. “Only… I don’t think that’s how it came out. Oh, I’m a damn fool!” Arthur exclaimed as he slammed his fists on one of the tables._

_He was about to walk back to his tent when John spoke again. John had properly woken up now, and was pissed that Arthur had tried to blame him._

_“That wasn’t all she said, golden boy. She said you didn’t want her ‘cause of her messed up leg. She took that bullet for you, Arthur.” John couldn’t resist the last bit, for once it wasn’t him being the dumb one._

_Arthur felt his blood run cold. You hadn’t. Oh please, god, say you hadn’t overheard him and Hosea. Why hadn’t he chosen his words more carefully? He knew there was no such thing as privacy in the camp._

_“I’ve got to go find her, she can’t have gone far. She’s still struggling to ride properly.” Arthur turned to run towards his tent._

_“MR MORGAN you’ll do no such thing.” Dutch had appeared behind him. “You’re forgetting what today is. We have it on good authority” Dutch nodded towards Kieran “ that Colm O’Driscoll will have moved to that camp in the Grizzlies. We are hitting them today, and we need all guns to hand”._

_Arthur opened his mouth to try and object. “Don’t make me start questioning your loyalty, Arthur.”_

_Arthur’s nostrils flared as he gritted his teeth. The gang came first, he had no choice._

_“You know me Dutch, always ready to shoot some bastard O’Driscolls.”_

_“Excellent. Eat well, and don’t go wandering off…. We’ll leave soon. I want to hit those idiots  at night, but it’s a long ride.”_

_——_

The day had gone past slowly. You were in a lot of pain; you were paying the price for staying on the horse all night. You didn’t dare sleep, even though you were exhausted; O’Driscolls weren’t the only things in this wood to worry about. No matter how hard you tried, your mind kept on going back to Arthur. Why the hell did you miss him? He didn’t care for you. But every time your mind wandered, it went back to those evenings by the fire. Your head on his shoulder, the heat from his body keeping the evening chill at bay. His smell, musky with hints of horsehair and gun oil; his eyes….

Finally, it was time to move. The O’Driscolls were celebrating something, either that or they’d found your inordinately large stash of booze in the cave. You sure hoped it wasn’t the latter, though that was the least valuable thing in there. Either way, they all seemed pretty drunk, and you were glad of anything that would make them less likely to see you. You left your horse a little distance away, made sure your knife sheath was full and checked your pistol. 

You managed to make it to the next tree before falling over.  _God damn leg!_ You crawled back over to your horse and hoisted yourself up, pulling the cane from your saddle. Well, at least you could always use it to hit them. You smiled slightly for the first time since the previous day, and slowly started to make your way around the camp towards the cave, keeping as close to the rockface as you could.

—–

_Arthur was bringing up the rear of the group as they thundered into the Grizzlies. He normally rode up front with Dutch, but Micah was up there and wouldn’t stop talking shit about (Y/N). Arthur was too down to give more than half-hearted curses to Micah; it was easier to move to the back, where he could be alone with his thoughts._

_In the little time he had before he left camp, he tried to search for a trace of you, some clue as to where you had gone. He’d found nothing. The further away from camp he got, the more he missed the comfort of having you by his side. He was a fool, an old, stupid fool._

_—–_

You were so close. You’d had to move much slower than you liked; partly because of the pain in your hip, partly because of the cane. You had set your recovery back weeks with that riding, you knew it. You should have rested it, not go so fast that you had to grip the saddles with your thighs hard enough to leave bruises. You should give up, you knew it; but it was too late, you needed that money. You needed supplies, to eat; no way you could steal anything or hunt in your state.

Crouching, assessing the distance to the next tree, you’d been too distracted by the pain to notice the movement behind you. You felt the excruciating blow to the back of your head, heard the shouts, as once again you slipped into darkness.

——-

_“Hold up boys. Let’s leave the horses here.” Dutch said as he brought the convoy to a stop. The men hitched their horses in the trees, gathering their weapons and crouched around Dutch. Arthur wasn’t surprised Dutch had brought so many of the others; he knew how much Dutch wanted to see Colm dead, and he was glad of the extra firepower. Arthur focused on Dutch as he outlined the plan and initially barely noticed Charles’s elbow in his side._

_“Arthur!” Charles whispered forcefully. “Isn’t that (Y/N)’s horse?”_

_Arthur’s head snapped round in the direction Charles was pointing. “It can’t be, surely not out here.”_

_“Arthur, how many other horses do you know sleep leaning against a tree?!”_

_Charles was right. God knows where you’d got that horse from, Arthur thought, it was all kinds of special. Arthur and Charles broke away from the group, ignoring Dutch’s angry mutterings._

_“She’s not here Arthur.” Arthur’s heart was pounding – what the hell were you doing? He and Charles had just started moving back to the others when a scream pierced the evening silence._

_——_

You screamed as the blade of the hot knife seared against the skin on your arm. Your cry was cut short as your cane was slammed into your stomach, winding you. You were fucked, and you knew it. Even tied up, you could maybe have escaped if there was only 2 or 3 of them; but there were at least 20, and your leg felt like it was on fire. You were on your knees, back to a post with your hands tied to the pole above your head. You didn’t know what these bastards had planned for you, but you suspected. And you knew they were going to take their time.

You hadn’t been awake long, but had already taken a decent beating. But now the O’Driscoll’s had gotten bored. They wanted to hear you scream, and they sure as hell knew some good methods for achieving their goal. The one with the knife was leering at you as he heated it again in the fire.

One of the other O’Driscolls grabbed you by the hair, pulling your head back. “Now remember lads, leave that pretty face alone. Colm likes ‘em pretty when he starts. They ain’t that way when he’s done though.” That last line was sneered right in your face.

“How much longer he going to be? I wanna have some fun” whined another greasy bastard. 

The one with the knife stood up, starting to walk back towards you. “He’ll be back soon. He saw a nice farmhouse a little way off, gone to get some….supplies.” Your head was held up, forcing you to look at your torturer, as he brought the knife closer to your skin.

You were about to shut your eyes, try to distance yourself from the pain, when his face exploded.

——

_“I don’t give a goddamn shit about your plan Dutch, we have to go NOW!” Arthur didn’t even wait for a response as he surged forwards. The others paused for a brief moment until Dutch nodded and they followed, fanning out through the trees._

_Arthur slammed into cover behind a tree. They must have heard him, he thought, but he didn’t care. He could still hear your scream, long since faded, in his head. He was seeing red, filled with rage. These bastards were going to pay with their lives, every.single.one.of.them._

_He leaned out of cover and brought his rifle to his shoulder. Breathing slowly, deliberately, he took aim and fired._

_——-_

The O’Driscolls had been so pre-occupied with you they hadn’t noticed the group running through the trees. The ones that did didn’t last long enough to warn the rest. The assault was over quickly; the Van der Linde gang were only outnumbered 4 to 1, it was more of a slaughter than a fight.

You had yelled out to Arthur as soon as you saw him, and couldn’t help but emit a sob as he cut you free. You fell forwards onto your side and groaned, as he hoisted you up in his arms.

“Where’s Colm dammit!” Dutch was furious, yelling.

Between deep breaths, you told Arthur what you heard, barely able to do more than whisper.

“He ain’t hear Dutch” Arthur called out. “And if he was nearby, he certainly ain’t comin’ back now.”

Dutch swore, kicking a nearby corpse.

“I’m sorry Arthur, I’m sorry. I must have ruined Dutch’s plans.” You started to sob, as another wave of pain overtook you.

“It’s okay (Y/N), it’s okay” Arthur said as he gently put you down, leaning you against a few crates. “You’re alright now, it’s over. Sorry I wasn’t here sooner.” 

He gently stroked your face, soothing you. You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him close, as the shock of what just happened started to fade. When you finally released him and started to move away, he pulled you back in, kissing you passionately. You kissed him back, breathing in his scent, feeling his stubble against your face.

“I ain’t never letting you out of my sight again darlin’” he said as he broke away, smiling. “I’m sorry for what I said….what you heard. I’m goin’ to keep you safe, I promise.”

“Arthur….. I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have left like that, without talking to you. It’s just.. I haven’t had a family in so long, I broke at the first sign of a problem.”

“I got news for you darlin’, this family’s got all kind of problems. But you ain’t one of them.” He leaned forward, gently kissing you on the forehead.

“Arthur, get Dutch. I’ve got something that might take the sting out of not getting Colm.”

Dutch was bouncing like a little kid when he came back from examining your stash. Even with your detailed instructions, you were pretty sure they only found it because of Charles’ skills as a tracker. You let the gang split it as they normally would; half for the gang, the rest between the group, yourself included. While a part of you ached to see it go, Arthur’s hand in yours reassured you that you were doing the right thing. You owed them your life twice over now…. you hoped this would be the last time.

The gang moved quickly, and soon the cave was empty and the horses loaded. Your horse was more than happy to be loaded up with the crates of whiskey and rum; there was no room left for you, but there was no way you were riding on your own in your state anyway. Aside from the burn on your arm, you were mostly just bruised, but your leg hurt like hell. With some help, Arthur carefully lifted you onto his horse, into the saddle in front of him.

“Mr Morgan, we’re making a habit of this.” 

Arthur laughed softly, as he urged his horse into a gentle trot. The others went off ahead, while Charles stayed behind with you, Arthur, and your bottle laden horse. They could move much quicker than you, and the quicker they got back to camp the better.

It was a long ride back but you and Arthur filled it with chatter. You were both so much more relaxed now, able to open up to the other. Every so often, you squirmed in the saddle as a particularly brutal burst of pain hit your leg; when this happened, Arthur would gently squeeze your waist and kiss your neck, reassuring you.

“Easy girl, nearly home.” His voice was low, rumbling, and comforting. But as you passed Valentine, you stopped talking as the pain became more constant.

“You alright, darlin’?” Arthur whispered in your ear, concerned.

“Yeh…. Just hurtin’. Wish I could forget about the pain, just for a moment.” 

Arthur’s hand rubbed your thigh reassuringly, as he kissed your neck again. This time, the kiss hit that point where the base of your neck meets your shoulder, sending a shiver down your spine. You sighed, and suddenly you knew exactly what would take your mind off the pain. You placed your hand on Arthur’s, gently sliding it up towards your crotch. Arthur resisted slightly until you whispered to him.

“I think that a little…distraction may do me good, Mr Morgan.” Your voice was low and soft, and it made Arthur unintentionally push his hips forwards against yours.

“Mhhmm.. anything you want darlin’.”

You undid the button on your trousers as Arthur carefully slipped his hand down. He was gentle as his rough hands rubbed you slowly. You breathed out quietly, letting your body relax, as he continued to run his fingers in gentle circles over you. Charles was only a little way ahead, so you tried to stay as quiet as possible, but every so often a little moan escaped your lips. Every time you did, Arthur ground his hips into you, letting out a little growl. You could feel him getting pressed against you, getting harder and harder, and the thought made you smile. 

You continued on like this all the way back to the edge of the camp. Neither of you wanted the moment to end; this was pure relaxation, carefully washing away the tensions of the last few days. As you drew near to camp, Arthur withdrew his hand and attempted to adjust himself the best he could; large gun belt buckles certainly came in handy for moments like this.

That evening’s party was already in full swing by the time your little group arrived. Everyone was pleased to see you back, and Miss Grimshaw was careful to thank you for your generous contribution. You stayed with them for as long as you could, drinking and laughing, but it wasn’t long before you asked Arthur to help you to bed. He carefully walked you to his tent, placing you on the chair.

“You can take my cot (Y/N), it’ll be easier to get in and out of. I’ll just grab my bedroll, I’ll sleep on the floor in yours.” You grabbed Arthur’s shirt before he managed to step away, pulling him towards you, making him frown.

“Mr Morgan, you’ll do no such thing. I need some more……distracting.” You bit your lip, staring up into his gorgeous eyes.

Realisation dawned on Arthur’s face and he grinned. He quickly pulled the flaps down around his tent, giving you a modicum of privacy, before he carefully picked you up and placed you on your back on the cot. He swiftly joined you, kneeling between your legs and leaning forward to kiss you.

“Just let me know if having your legs like this hurts your hip darlin’.”

You laughed. “Arthur Morgan, you might be wide, but you ain’t as wide as a horse. I’ll be fine. Now shut up and get that shirt off.”

Arthur didn’t need to be asked twice. He sat up, pushing the suspenders off his shoulder and pulling his shirt off over his head. You placed your hand on his chest, preventing him from leaning forwards again, allowing you to admire him for a moment. The sight of his hands resting on your spread knees, and those wide shoulders, made you shudder with excitement.

“Now that’s a view I could get used to” you sighed.

Arthur bit his lip, smiling, as he leaned forward and kissed you, harder this time. You yelped as he ground his hips into yours. He immediately stopped, and pulled away, looking at you with concern.

“Arthur Morgan, I swear to god, if you stop I ain’t going to be the only one in pain.” 

Arthur grinned as he leaned forward once again. Your hands ran over his back as he kissed your neck, his hands fondling your breasts through your shirt. He gently rubbed himself against you as you both got lost in the moment.

“Arthur, Dutch needs ya’” Sean’s voice from outside the tent made an unwelcome entrance into your little world.

“I’m busy Sean, tell him I’ll speak to him tomorrow” Arthur growled, barely moving his lips from your skin.

“Arthur, he’s very insistent. He’s yellin’ for ya”. As you listened, you could indeed hear Dutch calling Arthur in the distance.

Arthur sighed, resting his forehead on your chest.

“Won’t be long darlin’. If I don’t go he’ll only come over” Arthur said as he stood up.

“I’ll keep myself warm for you sweetheart” you said, as you slowly slipped your fingers under your waistband.

Arthur paused, biting his lip, gaze transfixed on your hand, before striding out of the tent, almost bowling Sean over.

“Dutch, what do you want, I’m a little busy right now” Arthur huffed.

“Arthur, there you are! You have to see this book (Y/N) had in her collection, it’s a beauty” Dutch replied excitedly, without looking up. Hosea was sat in Dutch’s tent with him and was staring at Arthur in the entrance.

“Really Dutch?! A damn book!” Arthur exclaimed.

“Don’t be like that Arthur, you know that….” Dutch, still looking at the pages in front of him, didn’t finish his sentence before Hosea’s elbow connected with his arm.

“Dutch, goddammit, look at me! Do I look like reading a book is what I want to be doin’ right now!”

Dutch finally looked up at Arthur. He was naked from the waist up, hair in a mess, sweating ever so slightly. He looked exactly like an illustration out of one of Mary-Beth’s books, albeit with a few more scars.

“Son, I’m terribly sorry” Dutch laughed. “Please, go resume your evening’s activity.” Arthur rolled his eyes and jogged back to his tent. Normally, he’d be embarrassed, he was a private man. But right now only one thing was in his head; you. There wasn’t enough blood left in it for any other thoughts.

Arthur opened the flap to his tent and smiled at the sight that greeted him; he was exhausted, but the happiest he’d been in a long time. And he was about to get a whole lot happier.


End file.
